From Heart to Page
by ForeverRichonne
Summary: Michonne comes across a letter from Rick that makes her feelings for him grow deeper. A Richonne story taking place in the 2 month jump between 6.9 and 6.10
1. Chapter 1

**Lori,**

 **I love you.**

 **I couldn't put it together.**

 **I just couldn't put it back together…**

 **Was I supposed to?**

 **Could I ever have?**

The night sky was defenseless against the hints of intruding daylight. Michonne observed from the comfort of her bed as hues of purple and pink swirled through the atmosphere, like loaded paint brushes washed in the deepest blue water. She drifted in and out of her dreams, imagining hands invisible creeping to caress the small of her dewy back.

Those hands she dreamt of belonged to Rick, at least she imagined them to be. She imagined him in many ways, so many ways. The closer she got to full consciousness, she realized more and more how large her bed was, how she swam in the silk king sized sheets.

The events of 2 months ago rang in her head still. She was not confused about Rick anymore. No, she was in love. How she felt was as clear as the sky was proving to be.

What was not clear, was the possible aftermath if she let those feelings escape. Carl and Judith were her heart, and though Rick was too, she wondered if she told him how she felt …would it shatter it all? Would Rick be up for it, after all that he'd been through? What they had was good, and she juggled back and forth with it, wondering if she should take the risk. After all, Rick said he didn't take those anymore.

She could hear that he was up for the day. As she lay, she could hear Rick ever so quietly getting ready upstairs. The shower running, the jingles of his belt buckle as he put it on, the creaking of the wood floor as he headed outdoors. The end of the world had left the earth so quiet that the smallest of sounds had become the loudest. It amused her how gentle she knew he tried to be, but she listened on to his morning melody, tracing the wrinkles on her pillowcase with her finger.

Where was he going? She wasn't exactly sure. For the past couple of weeks around this time, she could just make out through her window Rick's form walking toward a woman, Denice, with what looked like a pen and pad. They'd scurry off somewhere for a while and come back some time after, before the sun fully came out. Sure enough, she could see the same scene take place right through her window, except today, Rick was empty handed. As always, they'd exchange pleasantries and way off to the infirmary.

Each time he returned, Rick never mentioned to her where he went, so she left it be. Whatever it was, it made him truer. She noticed that he would come back a different shade as before he left, a different man. Sometimes he would have this serene expression about him, other times, with red stung eyes as if he'd been crying. If it was important for her to know, he would tell her. She trusted him.

But still she wanted to know.

Michonne sat up in bed and closed her eyes; sensed deeper for the warm hearts and bodies of others around her, Carl and Judith who slept upstairs. How precious they were to her. How precious they all were to her. Since all the other survivors had left the house to those 4, an unspoken connection grew between them, Rick and Michonne especially. Their roles for each other were incubating and maturing, becoming something else. Neither weren't sure of how to tell the other that they had surrendered to each other.

Done with the daydreaming, Michonne sleepily looked at the clock and realized it was time for her to start her day. 6:15. She promised Maggie to help plan for the community later on and she had quite a few errands to run beforehand. Michonne was very particular about her morning routine, despite being in the apocalypse, she wanted to take advantage of the privileges that Alexandria afforded her. She stood up and performed her morning stretches, and continued down the way and upstairs.

Her next step was to brush her teeth. Unfortunately, she had run all out some time ago so she would always siphon some from Rick's supply. Her cheeks went warm as her mind flashed images of Rick's slick smile when he teased her about her intense regimen. How she used too much toothpaste and that "They only put that much toothpaste on the brush in the commercials so that you'll buy more." She was a little miffed that he wouldn't be around today to tease her. Nonetheless, she needed toothpaste, and his bathroom had the only supply in the house.

As she walked down the hallway, she made sure to make first stops at Carl and Judith's room to check on them, both of them sleeping soundly. She made a mental note to change Carl's gauze as soon as he got up. Michonne was the only one that Carl would allow to see his wound, and he couldn't clean it alone.

Drifting into Rick's room, she was struck with sudden humidity of Rick's shower that escaped into the bedroom. The smell of his woodsy cologne and shaving cream lingered amongst the heavy air.

Through the steam, Michonne could make out the stunning view. Rick had hands down the best views of the whole house, and it was paramount in the mornings. Michonne kicked herself for not taking this room. The window space gave way to the most brilliant sunrise, as it was now demonstrating. In the distance, you could just make out the Blue Ridge Mountains that cupped the area.

Michonne stepped toward the window to admire for a moment until she felt the crunch and scatter of papers beneath her feet. Instinctively she picked up the notebook and made to put it on the nightstand that it must have fallen from in Rick's hurry.

That is, until she caught her name on the page.

 **Michonne**

It was like catching somebody naked, immediately she turned her head and averted her eyes, exaggerating the reach so that she could place the paper on the nightstand. She was not about reading people's personal things. She was a lawyer, all about the protection of personal information. She doesn't do that. Nope. Not her.

But it was too late. The interest had been piqued.

She wondered, what Rick could be writing about her, shrugging her arms close around to her body, the notebook now grazing her back. In a mental tug of war she fought herself, but the words she skimmed on the page fizzled to the top of her memory: feelings, Denise… Lori? His wife? What could she have to do with this... with her?

This burning and stretching feeling inside her urged her to read. It was automatic as her hands brought the book to her eyes and trudged through the tattered page.

The page was bruised with eraser marks; you could see where he wrote the first paragraph and erased time and time again and smell how the rubber burned as he furiously did it. It was Rick's hand writing sure enough, she'd seen it enough to know. Some of the penciling was worn down but with what looked like tears. Just by holding the notebook, you could tell that the rest of the book was treated much like this very page. This was his journal.

 _It couldn't hurt to read just a little bit._

No. No. She couldn't. This was so unlike her, she scolded inwardly. She was beside herself, not believing the invasion of privacy she was about to perform, how dare she!

But she read. The curiosity was simply too much for her to bare she decided. She would read and forget, no harm done. Yes. No harm done at all.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she plopped herself on the bed and began, placing her hand on the crook of her neck in agitation.

 **Lori,**

 **This isn't easy for me to say.**

 **When I was with you in all this, and even when you were gone, I was a man with no hope. I admit that now. But like Denise says, we can only look toward the future now. I tried to stay in the past here in Alexandria when we first came, tried to chase you and the way things used to be. But you know all about how that went. This is the new world. This letter is about that.**

 **You know Michonne? I've talked about her before. I know you would have liked her. She's amazing… like my sun. Kind, beautiful… I can't name to you how many times she's saved me. She gives Judith this huge smile and Carl adores her. She gave him his first smile after you had gone on…**

 **She makes me smile, even when I was an empty man she did.**

 _"Michonne. Stop. Stoppit Michonne! This is wrong. No. This is so wrong."_ her conscience yelled to her while she held her breath, looking to the ceiling for help, although it was delightfully burning her ears to see Rick refer to her in this way.

She wanted to stop right there, but she still continued, her eyes melting into the words now.

 **You know I'm no stranger to messing up, Lori. But when she looks at me, I feel like I can be better. I know I can because of her. We've been through a lot. Stuff that would break a lot of people. Almost broke me. But through everything, I know I'm okay because she is. She's become my best friend.**

 **Now that we're off the road and safe, I realize that she was such a big part of giving me hope again. She's makes my world bright. To be honest, she awakened many feelings that I didn't know I could feel again.**

 **I realize she's becoming more to me than just my friend.**

 **I loved you Lori, so much and so deep. I appreciate and forgive what we had, but I know it's time for me to move on. When you died I felt like I could never love anybody else. But I'm starting to see I was wrong about that…**

 **I want to try again. I want to be some part of the brightness that she's given me for her.**

 **I want to know what my future looks like, the new world. And the closer I get to it, the more I realize that I need her by my side. I just, need her.**

 **I ask for your blessing. I ask for the courage to bring us together.**

 **Love,**

 **Rick.**

And with that, Michonne placed a shaking hand to her heart at the end of the letter with sparks shooting up her spine. It shocked her to no end to see his feelings so raw on the page, so plain and so close to her own, so much so that she couldn't speak. A couple of tears unexpectedly rolled down her cheek. Happy ones.

Unsure of what to do, Michonne collected herself and hurriedly placed the notebook where it laid on the floor, best she thought to leave no trace of being there.

Without the toothpaste, she slipped out of the room with unexplainable feelings biting at her finger tips.

 **I can't go back.**

 **But I want to go forward.**

* * *

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

Songs on rotation

Shiver- Coldplay

Oh, Maker- Janelle Monae


	2. Chapter 2

**Lori,**

 **Today Carl opened his eye for the first time.**

 **The way she made him smile, real for the first time in a long time**

 **made me know it was going to be okay.**

 **This is what I kept going for.**

The hallway she floated down was warmer than remembered and grew hotter every moment she occupied it. She promised she would forget those words, and now they had fallen off the page, traveling through her at record speed, racing to meet her vulnerable heart.

She stormed down the stairs trying to make way to her room. There she could fully process what she just read.

Before she could reach the end of the stairwell she was startled by the sound of keys at the front door.

It was Rick.

Her breath hitched. He couldn't catch her like this. He'd know that she'd been in his room certainly, because that was always her first stop, after the kids' rooms. He'd wonder if she saw the papers that had scattered at the side of his bed, and her eyes would not be able to lie for her. They never could, even for those damn protein bars they couldn't.

That's when she began the mad and graceful dash to her room, leaping off the remaining stairs and behind the sofa, into her own room, quietly closing the door behind her.

She placed an ear to it just in time to hear Rick burst through. He seemed rushed and in a hurry, leaving a trail of curses as he sprinted up the stairs, where she had just been moments ago.

And there was a pause.

 _He must have came back for his journal_. Michonne clutched onto the panels in the door as her heart fought against her chest. If she had been just a few moments slower, he would have caught her. She shuddered at the thought.

She he could hear Rick faintly rattling through the tattered papers, then and a crescendo of footsteps back down the stairwell and out the door; out as quick as he came in.

Relieved, Michonne slid down the door and cradled next to it, straining her neck towards the clock. 7:04. Carl and Judith weren't due up for another hour or so, she was good for a while.

In the stillness, her thoughts caught her in an ambush.

* * *

The morning was going along smoothly, Michonne had Judith up and changed in great time, Carl's bandage was the best work she'd ever done. Her long list of errands were checked off and even though she had to meet Maggie later, she was mostly free for the rest of the day.

She drowned in the feeling of being busy and in control, it helped to keep her mind off of this new information. Every couple of minutes she would come up for air and wonder just how she could look at him, knowing what she did, and knowing what she wanted.

Michonne always valued herself quite the pragmatic person, impromptu was never her style, but the usually calm part of her in raging times was now an alarm going off to confess her own secrets to Rick. To just get it over with. To just let them be what they already were.

Those feelings she felt before she read that letter were shattered like good china. The mental script she had prepared and polished for weeks if the time arose was smashed, and what she remembered of it was too sloppy and raw for her to just present it to him now. It would be word vomit at the very least, so she put a lid on it.

 _What would I even say If I did? "Hey, Rick. Read your journal. I happen to have feelings for you too. Maybe even love you. Isn't that great? I was thinking about chilli for dinner tonight, what do you think?"_

Michonne binded her hair up in a top bun, preparing to cook a huge lunch for Carl and herself, even though Carl resigned to go hang out with Enid. Judith and her were the only people in the house right now, and she was preoccupied in her high chair with some alphabet blocks.

Rick was due home soon. He mentioned going off on a supply run with Glenn and Abraham earlier this week and said at that he would be back around noon time.

She was anxious to see him, moreso, she was anxious to be seen. All morning she scraped to recall bits and pieces of what it was for her to be normal around him.

"Da - Da!" Judith babbled excitedly, her rocking chair squeaking against the floor from her struggling to get into the arms of her father. Michonne nodded toward him, but thought good of herself not to look. Her neck was hot with uncertainty, but she liked to think she looked cool.

 _He's here. Oh, God._

"Hey, Sweetheart!" a smooth drawl called out in response. Michonne could feel his eyes on her as the sound of his footsteps came closer. Out of her peripheral she could see his denim shirt and Judith's tiny feet as he leaned up against the island where she was chopping onions, "Good mornin'."

Slowly, and unnaturally, she turned her attention toward him with a sly smile, the one she remembered she used often with him,"Morning."

Why did she dare to stare him in his eyes? Was this the first time she saw him? _Fully?_

The look he always gave her was deciphered with that page. She could see just how much he cared about her, every ounce of it. Reading his twinkling blue eyes like a map, she could see the deep vallies of sorrow and peaks of joy. they were the greatest masterpiece, and she was blissfully lost.

She continued wordlessly gazing until his eyebrows furrowed around them, he was becoming concerned she realized, "You okay?"

Michonne shrugged and said with a sigh as she continued to chop onions, "Oh Yeah… I'm becoming a lightweight now. Three months away from being out there, a little heat and hunger has got me feeling downright feeble. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

He nodded back, seeming to be buy it. "Well, keep me up on that, we just got a whole crate of medicine on the run. Maybe Denise can have a look you." His smile was infectious.

"- Speaking of the run today. We came across a small art store. We found all kinds of brushes and acrylic paints." He boosted Judith up on his hip, handing her a piece of carrot to munch on, "You paint right 'Chonne?"

"Yeah, I used to." she replied, not taking eye contact off the onions, she learned her lesson.

"Good that's what I thought. 'Cause I brought a couple of things back. A basic paint set. I wasn't sure what kinda colors you wanted beyond those, but I got orange, purple and yellow, and a couple of canvases. I figure you can just mix whatever other colors you need. We can always go back."

"Why those colors?"

"Because... they seem to be your favorite. You're always wearin' 'em, or whenever you have the choice, you pick those colors up." He pointed up into her hair that was adorned with an orange and yellow flower.

"Do I now?" She reached up for the flower, rolling her eyes playfully. He was right. Those were no doubt her favorite colors, even though she never voiced it to him. His attention to those small details was pleasing, and eased her back down from the hot anxiousness that she felt all that morning. It felt cozy around him again.

"Yeah..." he chuckled staring into the pan with sizzling, colorful ingredients, "They're in the living room closet if you ever feel up to it."

The room was comfortably silent for a beat, just like always.

"I just think -" he trailed, grasping a babbling Judith's hand to quiet her."there's no harm in trying to be what we used to be. Even just a little bit."

A sincere smile played on Michonne's face,"Thanks for thinking of me out there, Rick."

"Ah, No problem."

* * *

The day was over, and what happened this morning was far from her. She left the house for a couple of hours to plan with Maggie, and came home to him. Spent the rest of the evening with Rick, Carl and Judith, watching old 90's flicks. Carl asked Rick about what it was like during the that time, and Rick and Michonne divulged stories about walk-mans and swishy windbreaker pants, which Rick owned a lot of apparently. Carl listened like he was telling fairy tales.

She spent all evening with him, with not much thought to what she knew.

Rick took charge over Judy and Carl for the night, and Michonne slipped away into the quiet of her own room after dinner, leftovers from the too big lunch she made earlier. By the time her day was over, her thoughts had pooled around her knees like high tide. Begging for attention. Now she was sitting on the edge of her bed, preparing for not so restful sleep.

Whilst massaging lotion into her tired hands, reading Rick's story caused her to reflect on her own. She thought about her time since the world fell away, every scene she couldn't shake.

Reading the first newspaper articles that marked this disease as "an isolated incident", cradling her young child as he napped.

The cold, unforgiving ground she laid on in a makeshift camp, what she thought she deserved for allowing her family to break apart.

These were the moments that carried her to the cushy room of this $500,000 suburban home.

The day she released Mike, that was the turning point; Where she forgave every piece of resentment she felt toward him in search of a new start, an answer that was buried in the hearts of this family. The words she whispered into the air that day were so similar to what Rick was feeling right now.

That was almost a year ago, and she realized Rick was just now finding his peace here in Alexandria.

He was now, just now, learning to unpack all of the hurt and jealousy and pain that he harbored since the beginning. This sickness that snatched away his lover, turning her into someone he didn't recognize. Just before he was able to see her again, she was swept away forever.

She appreciated the time that she had after that to grow and gnash and mourn. Of course, there still were parts of her life that she couldn't touch yet, but she was working on them.

She wanted to pay Rick the same favor. So she would give him time, and it was the most painful thing to do. She was afraid she would burst though. She was locked in a box, and needed catharsis. Those big feelings could not just remain in her head anymore.

She had to get it out somehow, She thought about writing the way Rick did, that was never her release. Michonne would always get caught up in the technicalities of the words, and not pay attention to the truth of how she felt.

She wanted something tangible, wanted to show how she felt in language that only she could understand.

As she laid her head for rest, the idea came to her slowly.

* * *

 **Thank ya'll so much for the reviews and encouragement on this story. I really appreciate it. I thought to expand this story past a one shot and into a 3 chapter.**

 **I'm looking for someone to possibly beta the last chapter of this fic, message me on Tumblr or here if you're interested!**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

It came to her slowly.

A fleeting image that tempted her. Bold colors and strokes that, she could neither write, nor speak. A constantly moving and breathing tapestry, changing with every second.

It would not let her sleep, it wanted her to chase it before it leaped away from her forever. It kept her on the brink of consciousness, just enough to let her reality and dreams dance with each other. She knew what this was.

This feeling in her heart she could not write or speak… But she wanted to paint it. She wanted to paint again.

She hadn't had the urge in so long since the world had fallen all around her. The paints that Rick gave her just hours ago were calling. Long abandoned parts of her sprung out like flowers in the barren dirt.

In her dream sleep, she recounted many days in her old condo overlooking the city, days she spent spilling herself on the canvas; fishing her visions out of her mind and pinning them to the canvas. Watercolors were her favorite. She loved the flow and the bleed of them. Often times she could not tell where her and her brush ended.

She recalled time in the condo alone, as a young adult, when her art was the first furniture that she owned and, the only relief from long and stressful days as a lawyer. Then she remembered kneeling down on the floor with a swollen belly, how she painted every dream she had for her son, and the overflowing feelings she had for what was growing inside her. She remembered how she would share the canvas with Andre and how his paint strokes and painted footprints would make every piece better. Absolutely everything better. He could have been a painter…

Then it was just her and the sword as her paintbrush and the blood as her paint. But these were not those times anymore. She'd traded her brush for a sword out of necessity, what was the harm of picking it back up again?

Like in a sleepwalk, she got up before the sky started to swirl in those peerless shades of orange and pink that she had observed the morning before. It was still deep and dark out, and she could hear the crickets trilling in the distance.

With quiet, barefoot feet, she went downstairs and prepared the canvas. Instinctively, she kneeled to the floor in the living room where her locs rushed to the front of her entranced face. At first, there was a bit of hesitance to invite such a big part of her past life back into her, and the feelings associated. She thumbed the rough canvas with a slight smile, like catching up with an old friend. All hesitancy disappeared. She wanted to feel this again.

And there she was for both countless and few hours, with her vision coming undone on the blank canvas.

She sat there and tried to transcribe with paint just exactly how he made her feel, in the way that she could not write, or speak.

* * *

Michonne lost track of the time, she did not realize how the sun had ambushed her. It was a freeing feeling, to use the brush with differing pressures, sometimes soft, sometimes without reason, rather than the sword that was always a calculated swing.

She was so enthralled that she almost didn't catch Rick's quiet steps down the hall, drawing closer to the living room where she was.

Rick approached her from behind and leaned against the frame of the door. He could not see the painting by the way her body was positioned, but he could see the evidence surrounding her. She had paints on her hands and on the floor that was protected with a white blanket. The sun from the window was streaming through her locs that dangled around her shoulders as she painted. Rick thought she looked beautiful.

A small chuckle escaped his lips "Painting already, huh?" He felt contentment that he had gotten something useful to her.

"Yeah, I just had an idea that I couldn't shake." Michonne said, still painting, anxious to let him get a peak, but a curious feeling inside of her wanted him to see. She stopped painting and pushed back off her knees and onto her feet to give him a better view. "Wanna see?"

And he saw. There was something more to it than just a painting. To him it seemed like the most beautiful code. Indecipherable to him, but no less intriguing. He was taken aback by how full of emotion it was, like she'd taken her tears and used them to create watercolors. It was beauty, and she was beauty, and he was stunned.

In the silence that drifted between them, Michonne wondered if Rick knew he was gazing at her exposed heart. Michonne wanted to spout that he was her muse, let him know what it was right there, and leave it on that floor, but she knew what she had promised, and the thought fell away.

"Michonne, it's beautiful. You're incredibly talented," Rick slouched over the couch behind her, opting to not invade her space. There was more he wanted to say, but the painting left him in a daze.

"Thanks," She felt a sense of pride growing in her ribs, the warmth escaping up to meet her cheeks. "I was thinking maybe it would look nice where my katana used to be. Up above the fireplace, you know?" She motioned upward to the bare wall just in front of her. "Now that I mostly keep it in my room, this area is looking a little bare."

"Well, I think it'll work. It's going to be a great addition. You know the whole block is going to ask for commissions, you up for that?" Rick jabbed.

"Eh, That's not a bad thing, I could use a couple of feelers out there for some Big Cats." Michonne darted her eyes to Rick jokingly, as he emitted a chuckle. In his mind he added the chocolate bars to the list of things to get on the next run, along with spearmint toothpaste.

As they laughed, her eyes dropped to Rick's side to see that same tattered notebook that she had read just yesterday. Once she realized what it was, she didn't want to give it much attention, but Rick had already noticed that she was looking.

With an air of hesitation,coaxed by Michonne's offer of intimacy, he said. "Ah, I've - I've been writing." He pointed to his notebook for emphasis. It sounded like a confession, clammy and careful, like the night he told her about the guns. Michonne could only nod her head understandingly. "I've got to go off with Denise right now, but… maybe I can tell you about some of it later?"

This sparked a warm smile from Michonne. "I'd like that, Rick."

"Good, looking foward to it." He mirrored her grin. And with that, Rick got off of the couch and headed out the door.

Michonne gave her attention to her painting again. Giving it a once over, she was proud of it. It usually would take hours to days for her to finish a painting, but she felt good about leaving this one right where it was. It was perfect. She realized she'd left her heart on that canvas the way he left his heart on that page.

Deep down, she knew they would come together someday soon.

* * *

 **Finished! For those of you who follow me on Tumblr the top half should sound a little familiar lol. Thank you so much to those who stuck around to the end of this, encouraged me to write the next chapter and reviewed! A big thanks to my beta reader, leeeel!**


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